Prayers and Naps

[alittlehinky]

It's hard to find a private spot in the Cafe at this point. More and more people are there, more and more activity. There's a shuffle as people come and go from scouting and expeditions and jobs, and when that quiets, what's left is a kind of icy twilight, where people seem to be speaking either too loudly or in dull, inaudible whispers, trying to rest and save energy. Time passes very, very slowly, and Cricket's begun to lose track of days.

At least there are people around praying, so it doesn't look too weird when he squeezes himself into a back corner and settles on his knees. Without the braces he can actually do it, although it's not going to be comfortable for long. He wonders if he should fold his hands, maybe? Except he doesn't want to lose track of his cane, so he ends up wrapping both arms around it and tucking his hands into his sleeves, pulling his hood up and closing his eyes.

His lips move, but he's not making any sound. Hey, Loki? Don't exactly know how to do this when it's personal. I prayed before, but I sure ain't prayed to anyone I been sharing a bed with, so. Yeah. I hope you get this.

Don't know where you are or what you're up to, and I ain't mad, because it's getting crazy here anyway and it's just as well you ain't in the midst of this part of it. Only I'm worried about you. I hope you're takin' care of yourself. You ain't gotta to anything for me but come back safe whenever you can. But I miss you, and anything you need that I can give you, I will. That's all.

There are no more words after that, but Cricket's mind lingers on images and memories, and if Loki picks up on any of that, it's probably quite flattering, the way there's a butterflies-in-stomach flutter accompanying every memory of his laugh, and waves of fondness at the thought of cuddling him in magpie shape.

Whether it's the intended consequence of this experiment or not, the young man finds himself falling asleep as he dwells on pleasant thoughts, resettling from kneeling to curled up in the corner. It's nice and warm here, even if the floor isn't as soft as it could be, and he figures if he dreams, they'll be pleasant ones.

Comments

[magpiemythos]

It was still winter in Cricket's dreams. But not quite as foreboding, or as bitter. He was outside and even with the snow, it didn't seem to touch him overmuch, and the sky was that brilliant robin's egg blue that always seemed to make the snow covering everything gleam that much whiter.

And he wasn't alone either. Cricket would notice that not far from the log he was settled against, there was a bit of movement in a hill of snow that resolved in a tiny, angular face poking out, all white fur and glossy black eyes. Nose twitching once, twice, little round ears shedding snow as the little winter-furred stoat slunk it's way out of the snowbank and scampered closer in that awkward weasel gallop, coming to a halt near Cricket's feet.

Hello!